The Deimon Expedition's Jungle Adventures
by Fushigi Kismet
Summary: England, the 19th century.  Sena, Manabu, their sister Mamori, and their maidservant Suzuna embark on an expedition to Africa under the leadership of Hiruma.  Mamori's sure this can only lead to trouble.  [HiruMamo] [Incomplete]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 is © Inagaki Riichirou and Murata Yuusuke, Shueisha, Viz, etc.. This is a non-profit fanwork. In accord with the time period this takes place in, Hiruma's favorite bit of profanity will be rendered "unprintable."

**The Deimon Expedition's Jungle Adventures**

Chapter One: Scholars and Gentlemen

"Miss Mamori?"

She marked her place with the silk ribbon, then looked up from her book. "Yes, what is it?"

"There're two . . . gentlemen here to see your brothers about the expedition, only I can't find them." 

Mamori sighed. "Are they waiting in the parlor?" 

"Yes'm."

"I'll go see them. Suzuna, see if you can't find my brothers buried in the back of the library. If not, you'd best send Ishimaru out to see if they're spending the afternoon at the Explorer's Club."

The maidservant gave a little curtsy, her head bobbing up and down politely. "Yes'm." 

--

Mamori made her way over to the parlor. Of course her brothers' guests had decided to call right before teatime. She had been looking forward to eating that box of creampuffs all on her own and now she would have to divide it up and serve them to these two unwanted strangers. What a waste.

The whole thing was really quite ridiculous, she thought. Africa! To study _gorillas_! Of all the things! Her mild-mannered brothers wanted to squander their fortunes on an expedition to the deepest, darkest jungles of that godforsaken continent. It was a perfectly ludicrous idea as she had taken the liberty of informing them on _several_ occasions, and they would do well to dispose of such preposterous notions and return to living a lifestyle that befit scholarly gentlemen. Her oldest brother especially. He had just graduated from college with honors and was all set to take over the family business, in title if not in truth, as it had been running quite well all on its own following the untimely deaths of their parents.

Africa! The two of them couldn't visit the bank without being bullied by the people waiting in line for the tellers. They would only get themselves killed in the jungle. By pygmies! Or boa constrictors! Or malaria! Well, while she had this opportunity she would make sure to tell whoever had come to call that her brothers would most certainly NOT be venturing outside the front door without her say-so, much less all the way across the ocean.

When she stepped inside the parlor, despite what Suzuna had said, no matter how hard she looked, she only saw _one_ man, round and middle-aged with a bushy mustache and prominent eyebrows. And a raft. And what looked like several _tons_ of jungle equipment and was that an _open crate of rifles_ on her parlor floor?!

"Ah," she said delicately, taking a deep breath, "Mr. . . . ?" 

"Doburoku! Pleasure to meet you! You must be Miss Mamori!" he said, jolly as St. Nick, grabbing her hand in his and shaking it up and down. Right before he attempted to kiss it she snatched it away.

"And you are here to see my brothers-?"

"About their African expedition, yes!" he said. "I brought the equipment they ordered and booked the ship. We're all set to sail on the 14th."

"The . . . the 14th," she said unsteadily. "You mean the day after _tomorrow_?"

"Yes, that's right. Everything's all paid for and set to go."

"E . . . Everything?" she said, feeling faint. When had she lost control of her situation? They'd both been sneaking around behind her back!

Before she could inquire any further as to exactly what _everything_ consisted of, Suzuna entered and curtsied. "Ma'am, the young masters have arrived."

"Sorry, Sister," Sena said, gasping, "we were at a meeting at the Explorer's Club and lost track of time!"

Manabu started to add his own apologies, then his eyes alighted upon the figure of Mr. Doburoku. "Oh, Mr. Doburoku," he said enthusiastically, "so you have brought him? The man you we were speaking of to lead our expedition?!"

"Yes, yes," he said effusively, "the best man for the job, of course! The best man! In fact, the only man! Here, he's just now come back," – and Mamori noticed someone coming in through the door – "I've brought him along to meet you, give you a look see, so to speak." He stepped aside with a flourish. "May I present Mr. Youichi Hiruma?"

The grinning, uncouth figure standing there, holding a _rifle_ of all things slung behind his back, looked more like a devil than a man. He examined the rifle for a moment then fired it into the ceiling. Mamori shrieked. Sena and Manabu both blanched. Plaster rained down. He peered up at the hole, narrowed his eyes against the dust, and said, "Huh, not bad, not bloody bad."

"What do you think you're doing?!" she said, aghast.

"Rifles," he said, exchanging the first one for another one from the open crate and sighting along the barrel, "are a man's best friend. In the jungle, a working rifle and enough bloody bullets can be the only thing keeping you from entering the Gates of Hell." He turned to look at Mr. Doburoku who was looking just a bit more nervous than he had a moment ago. "The quality on this isn't bloody bad, old man."

"Well, well of course!" he responded, attempting to be jolly. "As if I could get by with anything less than the best with you running things!"

"I didn't say it was the _best_," he corrected, tossing the rifle to him. "I said it wasn't bloody bad. I want another bloody shipment. Newest bloody model, highest quality gunpowder." 

"Right, right, just as you say." Mr. Doburoku turned to Manabu and Sena. "Of course you will incur the costs, gentlemen? They may be considerable as the rest of the provisions must be acquired quickly. As I was telling your lovely sister, you are set to sail the day after tomorrow. And I assure you, you are in very good hands with Mr. Hiruma. After all, he did lead the Southbrook Expedition to victory three years ago in the Expeditionary Race."

"Damned straight I did."

Mamori steeled her nerve to protest that they couldn't _possibly-_

Then Mr. Hiruma turned to look at her. "Yo," he said, leisurely eyeing her up and down, his grin – more like _leer_, was that any way to behave around a lady?! - growing more appreciative as he did so.

Mamori flushed. This man was _no_ gentleman! But before she could open her mouth to say so, her oldest brother was shaking his hand and saying how pleasant it was to meet him and what a wonderful expedition it would be with him on board. All as though not five minutes before the man had not been _blowing holes through their ceiling!_

"That's right," Mr. Hiruma said, glancing over at her, still smirking, "I'm the bloody best. You find yourself _needing_ anything - I'll take care of it for you."

Well, she thought furiously, she'd just see about that, wouldn't she! There was no way, NO WAY she was going to leave her older brother – completely lacking in common sense as he was – let alone her impressionable younger brother Sena in the care of that . . . that villain! "I find that I must accompany you," she said abruptly.

Her brothers' mouths dropped open.

If possible, Hiruma – forget the Mister, he didn't DESERVE it – smiled even wider. "Well, miss," he said touching his fingers to his hat as she glared, his voice so smooth it was _obscene_, "pleasure to have you."

She was suddenly full of violent impulses she had never before experienced, like wanting to stuff his hat into his mouth and watch him choke on it. And her heart had mostly certainly _not_ just skipped a beat.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 is © Inagaki Riichirou and Murata Yuusuke, Shueisha, Viz, etc.. This is a non-profit fanwork. In accord with the time period this takes place in, Hiruma's favorite bit of profanity will be rendered "unprintable."

**The Deimon Expedition's Jungle Adventures**

Chapter Two: I know how furiously your heart is beating

This, Miss Mamori thought for the umpteenth time, was not a terrible idea. It was the _worst idea in the history of ideas_.

--

The Deimon expedition, named for their surname, was not, as she had assumed before leaving, merely for her brothers' questionable enjoyment. Oh no, that would have been far too ordinary. It was, in fact, part of the tri-annual Explorer's Club Expeditionary Race wherein teams of Explorers vied for the coveted Explorer's Cup and the glory that came with it by each bringing back a specimen or discovery more magnificent or outrageous that that of the others. The theme this time? Gorillas.

Manabu and Sena thought it was the most wonderful thing they had ever participated in. Mamori thought it was a load of – well, unprintable. Not that she would ever dare say so in terms _quite_ that strong, but in the tiny, dark recesses of her mind she thought it. Often.

She was also not amused to find that the teams they were competing against were the Kingston White Knights, the Banner Spiders, the Stenson Wild Gunmen, the Zimmerman Chameleons, and the five-time champions Sheridan Snakes. The Zimmerman family was illustrious but the oldest son was known to be dissolute and a gambler. One of the Sheridan family's two sons had a different sort of reputation and Mamori still shuddered at the memory of their one casual encounter at a ball. These were the sorts of people her brothers should stay far away from.

But then, their current company was hardly any better.

"Don't worry," Hiruma said often, shining his gun, "there's no way we'll lose to that bloody lot. Not when I'm bloody well in charge." 

Mamori wasn't as confident and worried the entire sea voyage, not the least because Manabu had a weak stomach and, apparently, an aversion to ocean travel which manifested itself quite often. "But," he protested weakly every time she fussed over him, "this is the most exciting time of my life!"

Suzuna, whom she had reluctantly permitted to come along as her maidservant, seemed to share a similar view. In fact, she was always chatting with Sena who she was of an age with, and while Mamori was happy Sena had someone other than Hiruma with whom to associate, it made her a little uneasy all the same. Not that there was anyone who would gossip over Sena being so familiar with a maidservant on the ship or even later in the _jungle_, but Mamori was apt to worry over most things concerning her brothers.

Surprisingly, the situation improved slightly once they reached their African port of call. Hiruma's team of baggage carriers and proved reliable and Mamori had no qualms at all about their two guides, Kurita and Musashi, who, while not upper-class, knew how to behave properly around a lady. The only thing that lead her to question their judgment was their friendship and reliance on Hiruma.

Not that Hiruma hadn't proved his worth several times over so far, negotiating with tribesmen and shooting dead a panther stalking their campsite. She was forced to admit that he was more than capable and got things done efficiently, if a bit ruthlessly. She still believed him heavy-handed in his management of her brothers. He forced them to carry supplies and undergo daily practice with the rifles, even going so far as making them hunt alone in the jungle for their dinner! But Manabu and Sena were still soldiering cheerfully on, and they continued to extol his virtues even when they were too weary to eat.

It was really too much.

It was also too much how Hiruma _always_ had to be right. Like this morning when he had told her to avoid a nice open area of jungle and just to prove him wrong she had come ahead and stepped there. Only to end up falling into something like a swamp.

Would it kill him, she thought, to be wrong, just _once_? But the clear answer to that was that it most likely wouldn't kill him. The ones who would suffer would be _them._

Sighing, she scrubbed at her traveling dress with the washboard they had brought. Suzuna was going through their luggage looking for her spare, but she was afraid it might have been in the crate that fell overboard while they were rafting down the river.

She was down to her lacy chemise worn over her corset and her knickers. Everyone else had gone out to the jungle to explore and provide her with the necessary privacy. Not so Mr. Hiruma who was watching her with the excuse that he was "her guard."

"'Sides," he'd said, when he'd walked over from the other side of camp, "it's not like I haven't bloody well seen women wearing less than that." 

It was probably true, she thought. Damn him. His coarse language and vulgarity barely gave her pause these days.

"What do you want?" she demanded, wringing out the dress.

He seemed to consider her question for a moment, then he said, "Hell, if I told you, you'd just slap me."

"Most likely," she said, pushing her filthy hair back from her face with wet fingers and reaching up on her toes for the clothespins on the line which Manabu had unfortunately hung just a bit too high for her.

"Allow me," Hiruma said, and pulled the line down. She snatched two clothespins furiously and hung her dress. He let the line spring back in place.

"I'm not going to thank you," she said. 

"Like I was bloody well expecting you to."

"Well, what were you expecting, Mr. Hiruma?" She tipped the basin over and watched the soapy water run over and sink into the springy ground.

"This, pretty much. You act like you bloody well hate me, woman."

""Hate" isn't quite the word. May I suggest loathe, despise, dislike immensely as ready alternatives?"

"I said "act,"" he said easily. "You put on a bloody good show."

"And what makes you think it's a show, Mr. Hiruma?"

"I know a place where you can bathe," he said idly, changing the subject.

"Oh? And what would your interest be in divulging such information?"

"Hell's Bell's, you bloody woman! Must you be so bloody difficult? Isn't it enough that you clean up pretty?"

"Do I?" she replied, with the tone of a woman who was well aware of it, thank you very much, Mr. Hiruma.

"Damn straight," he said, not missing a beat. "It makes things a sight better for you to be easy on the bloody eyes."

"And why is that?" 

"It helps me put up with your bloody prattle and it gives me somethin' to look at. The view ain't bad."

"Please don't," she said softly.

"Don't what?" And, very deliberately, he placed a hand to either side of her head and backed her up against the tree.

Look at me, address me so familiarly, follow me around, stand so close, smell quite so much of sweat and gunpowder and chewing gum, any number of things, really. 

"Address me with that vulgar mouth of yours." 

"You like me vulgar," he retorted. "Bloody well admit it. I'm the only one who will talk back to you and give as well as I get. It gets your blood moving."

He was watching her like a hawk. She forced herself to meet his eyes calmly. They were quite blue. Her eyes flicked to his not-quite predatory smile and then away.

She wanted to tell him to unhand her, but he wasn't touching her, not at all, so instead she said, very primly, "You are making me uncomfortable, Mr. Hiruma. Please remember your station and refrain from such unseemly displays." 

"You don't bloody well fool me," he said, not moving.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she snapped.

"Oh?" he said, leaning forward until they were nose to nose. "That's bloody rich. I bloody well know how furiously your heart is beating."

And she wanted to reply, wanted to say, _No, you_ don't, _because it's_ not, but she couldn't because it _was_.

Maybe it was fear, she thought wildly. But, no, it wasn't fear, had never been fear that made her heart beat like this.

His breath was warm. "Bloody 'ell, you know you want this as much as I do."

As he lowered his mouth to hers and she shut her eyes and leaned up, she thought dimly, _I have never been afraid of him._

His lips had just brushed hers making a little thrill of forbidden excitement shoot through her when the jungle exploded into chaos, parrots squawking and flying in confusion.

"Unprintable!" Hiruma swore, then thrust her unceremoniously behind him with a "Get back!" as he cocked his rifle.

She could see the figure stalking towards them through the flapping of the laundry on the line. An ape? No, a man, completely naked save for a leopard-skin loincloth, a wild bird in one hand. He hooted at them, staring intently at Mamori.

A well-bred lady, she knew, would scream and most likely faint gracefully. She clutched the back of Hiruma's jacket tightly and whispered, "What are we going to do?" 

"This," he said, and fired.


End file.
